


a close eye

by orphan_account



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Intercrural Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-08
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2019-02-12 06:20:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12953184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: On Tuesday morning, an hour or so after Georgie has left him alone for the day, there’s a sharp knock on the door. Jon doesn’t know what to make of it, doesn’t know whether to answer or not - is it the police? Have they looked into things enough to consider this a place he might be hiding out? - but after a few minutes, when the sharp knock comes again with no more input than that on who it might be, he decides to risk it and open it, find out who’s out there.Elias is who’s out there.





	a close eye

**Author's Note:**

> getting jon into porn situations is so hard when you can't just toss him into them on michael's giant hands, save me

On Tuesday morning, an hour or so after Georgie has left him alone for the day, there’s a sharp knock on the door. Jon doesn’t know what to make of it, doesn’t know whether to answer or not - is it the police? Have they looked into things enough to consider this a place he might be hiding out? - but after a few minutes, when the sharp knock comes again with no more input than that on who it might be, he decides to risk it and open it, find out who’s out there.

Elias is who’s out there.

Jon freezes at the sight of him, stood there perfectly-groomed and poised and in stark contrast to the picture Jon - tired, panicked, wearing a _What the Ghost_ t-shirt - must be painting. He’s almost certainly a murderer and he’s just stood there, one eyebrow slightly raised and a file tucked under one arm.

“Aren’t you going to invite me in, Jon?” he asks after a few moments of silence.

And Jon certainly hadn’t _planned_ to, but despite the tone and the phrasing it’s not a question, really, and he finds himself stepping aside despite himself and letting Elias step inside. Which is a terrible idea, because Elias is almost certainly a murderer and the fact that he even knows where Georgie lives is almost certainly putting both her and Jon in danger, let alone him actually being _inside_ the place, but—

But Jon hadn’t had a _choice_. Elias had asked him a question that was really an order, and there’d been no sense of _choice_ in obeying that, and he suddenly finds himself beginning to realize that ‘marked’ might not be the best word for what he is; ‘collared’, perhaps, is more accurate.

(he swallows, and doesn’t miss the way Elias’ eyes dart to the movement as he passes)

Shutting the door behind Elias, Jon trails him into the living room mutely. Once in there, Elias looks about the room in a way that suggests someone inspecting new surroundings but doesn’t entirely ring true, as though he’s been there a hundred times before and is only trying to pretend that he hasn’t. He hasn’t, really, Jon knows that much, but nonetheless the examination seems like an act somehow.

“I’ve brought you another statement, and some fresh tapes,” he says, after a few moments of that. “I trust you’ve recorded yesterday’s?”

Well. That answers one question, along with prompting several more.

“You were the one who brought that.” The answered one.

“Of course. And now I have another for you.”

“ _Why_?”

Elias looks at him oddly, at that. “You are the Archivist.”

He doesn’t seem inclined to explain things any more than that, even when Jon tries to press things or point out that presumably being the Archivist requires actually having his _job_ as the Archivist. Elias seems like he can’t decide whether to be amused or annoyed by the second part, for that matter.

In the end, Jon changes tack. “How did you know where I was, anyway?”

 _That_ puts Elias’ expression squarely into ‘amused’.

“There has been no point since your flight from the Archives at which I _haven’t_ known where you are, Jon. Where you are, who you’re with, what you’re doing…”

He trails off in a way that makes Jon shift uncomfortably, overly aware again of how insincere Elias’ inspection of the place had been. The way he’d looked like he’d seen the place before. The way he’s looking at Jon now. Jon finds that he doesn’t need to ask whether Elias has been watching him somehow, because, occasional-leaning-unfortunately-often poor decisions aside, Jonathan Sims is not a _stupid_ man, and Elias knows that, and the look and the ever-so-slight lift of his right eyebrow are answering that question perfectly well without words. So Jon won’t give him the satisfaction of actually _asking_ , although as the thought cements itself in his mind he’s struck suddenly by the feeling that Elias knows _that_ , too, that Elias is as amused by him in this moment as any cat with a trapped mouse.

“…of course,” he settles on eventually, turning away immediately to fetch the tape he’d recorded yesterday’s statement on.

It occurs to him, as he’s fetching it, that perhaps he shouldn’t hand it over. That he should keep it, and more than that he certainly shouldn’t give it to the man who most likely murdered a man in his office and is the reason everyone presumably thinks that _Jon_ murdered a man in his office. But once again, it feels as though there’s no real choice in the matter. As though he has no option but to fetch Elias the tape, and give it to him, and let him do what he will with it.

What he _does_ feel like he has a choice about, though, is the other tape, the tape he’d recorded his own statement on. It sits next to yesterday’s, and he stares at it, and finds that he could, he thinks, leave it here next to his bed in the guest room. Elias would know, he’s certain of that, but - though he can’t explain why - Jon doesn’t think he’d push it. Whether this particular tape stays or goes is entirely up to him, it seems.

After what feels like hours of hovering there, uncertain, he picks up both tapes and carries them out to where Elias is sitting and waiting for him, having apparently decided to make himself at home on the sofa during Jon’s absence.

Elias actually smiles when he sees the two tapes, and says _wonderful_ in a way that makes Jon’s stomach flip and clench in some odd way.

“I— I recorded a statement of my own,” he says, reasonably sure the explanation is unnecessary but feeling incredibly out of sorts and trying to grapple for a way to remove that feeling. Elias’ answering smile only worsens it though, enough to make him almost wonder whether the other is doing something unnatural to his mind, to his body.

(only almost, though; anything truly unnatural done to him is not coming directly from Elias, he knows, and he doesn’t think that the Eye’s hand - as it were - is working in this situation to any extent beyond the fact of them both being caught up in its power)

They stay like that for long, awkward moments, Elias sitting watching him while Jon just stands there with the tapes clutched in an increasingly sweaty hand. In the end, he puts them down on the coffee table in front of Elias and takes a few steps back.

“I— tea,” he says, and it comes out a great deal more strangled than he intended it to. “Do you want tea? If you’re not leaving. Which it seems like you’re not. Because you’re sitting there, and not—”

“Jon.” It’s abrupt enough to cut through him and leave him silent and frozen again, but the tone isn’t sharp and Elias’ face is without disapproval as he stands up and walks over to Jon, stands just close enough to be uncomfortable. “You’re panicking.”

“Yes,” Jon agrees freely, quite unable to do anything but. “You are—”

He cuts himself off, barely even knowing where that sentence was planning to end, and Elias cocks his head slightly and simply _observes_ Jon for a moment.

“A murderer?” Elias offers after that silence, tone as light as if he were saying something entirely unremarkable.

“Among other things,” Jon manages to say.

He can’t quite tell whether the feeling that Elias is somehow examining all the possible _other_ things that Jon could describe him as is reality, or just the product of an overactive imagination fueled by paranoia. Either way, it leaves him feeling utterly exposed, as though Elias knows every secret he’s ever had.

(it strikes him, of course, that - even if that _particular_ feeling wasn’t reality - the idea that Elias _could_ know every secret he’s ever had seems entirely plausible)

“Well,” Elias says. “Be that as it may, if I had any intention of doing you harm it would have been done long before now. Don’t you agree?”

 _You did me harm when you made me the Archivist_ , Jon wants to say. Should say. Would be right to say. But it’s sunk into his bones, like coming home to something you never even knew was home, and the thought of _not_ being the Archivist makes something in his chest pull too tight and painful for him to even say the words.

Elias watches his face, silent, and then says, “Well. Hardly recent, anyway.”

The quiet scrutiny, the inability to keep anything simply a private thought, ought to be unsettling at best. Right now, though, it’s almost a relief.

(some words are too hard to say; some thoughts are too important to go unheard)

They stand like that for what could be seconds or could be long minutes, Elias just-too-close for comfort and just _watching_ him, scarcely seeming to blink. Jon feels frozen, breath coming just a hint too fast as Elias’ gaze pins him there.

Eventually, though, Elias turns away, and Jon lets out a shaking breath somewhere between relief and something far less wise.

“Right, then,” Elias is saying now, “Today’s statement and the new tapes are on the table. I trust you’ll find everything in order.” He makes for the table as he speaks, clearly intending to collect the recorded-on tapes and leave just like that, and Jon—

Jon can’t tell if he has a choice this time, only that he reaches out and snags the sleeve of Elias’s suit jacket without a thought.

“Elias, I—”

 _Don’t go_ , he wants to say, but the words die in his throat with the realization of just how _stupid_ they would be, would sound. But nonetheless, he—

With all that he’s been through there, all the harm it’s done him, Jon cannot explain in any logical, natural terms the way that being apart from the Archives, with no indication of when - if - he can return, aches in his chest as though his heart has been carved out of it. He has no natural reason for it, only the knowledge that he is the Archivist - is, just as Elias had suggested, no matter where he goes - and that the Archives are therefore the natural place for him and being apart from them in this way makes him feel stripped open and defenseless.

He has no natural reason for it, but he has the ache in his chest and the cold in his bones and the knowledge that Elias is, in some way, linked to the Archives and bringing him pieces of them as though to dull the feelings. That, as terrible an idea as this may be, he doesn’t want Elias to simply _leave_.

“Elias,” he says again, and this time Elias turns and stares again at his face for long moments as though he’s reading everything out of Jon that Jon can’t say aloud. And then, reaching up - Jon’s loose grip on his jacket-sleeve detached by the movement - he places his hand against the side of Jon’s face, sliding it up just enough to have his fingertips sliding into Jon’s hair.

(Jon has heard the term _touch-starved_ before, but it’s never quite occurred to him before now just how much he—)

“Archivist,” Elias says, almost considering, and the shiver that runs through Jon’s body is so strong that he fancies it would be visible from across the room. He can’t think after that, can’t manage to summon any kind of higher thought when everything in him is simply saying _yes_.

He can, however, kiss Elias.

He can’t necessarily do it _well_ , being out of practice and never having had much of that in the first place, but he can ram his lips against Elias’ in a way that’s perhaps _endearingly_ inexperienced rather than simply appallingly so; can fix both of his hands in the front of Elias’ suit jacket and hold on as though he’s drowning; can make an embarrassingly desperate-sounding noise against Elias’ mouth without any prior consent from his mind to the action.

When he pulls back, Elias looks genuinely surprised for a moment, and some part of Jon is altogether too satisfied with the achievement. It doesn’t last for longer than that first initial second, though, and then Elias is the one looking altogether too satisfied.

“ _Well_ ,” he says, and Jon is struck again by the sensation of being a trapped mouse. A sensation made worse when Elias contemplates him for a few moments and then abruptly _picks him up_ , swinging Jon off of his feet as though it’s no effort whatsoever, and proceeds to carry him into the guest room.

“Your room?” Elias says, a question that’s not a question because Jon knows full well he’d know the answer even if he _hadn’t_ seen Jon retrieve the recorded tapes from there. “And no lock on the door, too? I suppose you’ll simply have to hope that your gracious host doesn’t return early.”

(‘you’ll’, Jon notes, and wonders whether Elias automatically knows the answer to _that_ one, too)

He ought to, he thinks, tell Elias to stop. Ought to tell him this was all a mistake, ought to have him leave like he’d clearly intended to, ought to promptly leave this place and start staying somewhere with nobody else around who he could endanger with his mere presence. He ought to do all kinds of things, and ought to have done or not done all kinds of things in the past that he hadn’t gotten right in the end.

But then Elias dumps him onto the bed in a way that seems haphazard but feels entirely planned nonetheless, and the drop winds him as he was opening his mouth to try to say something - though he’s not sure what that something would have been - and when Elias joins him on the bed and holds himself over Jon and simply _watches_ him, whatever Jon had planned to say evaporates. Elias keeps watching him, as though confirming he’s not going to say anything after all, and then leans down and, without preamble, bites the side of Jon’s neck sharply.

It makes Jon yelp, embarrassingly loud and embarrassingly high, but he can’t say he _dislikes_ it, exactly. Probably ought to, probably _should_ dislike having an admitted murderer biting him somewhere so vulnerable. But, after all, even if Elias were planning to murder Jon it’s not as though he’d do it by _biting his throat out_ , really.

(and that’s a mental image that makes him shudder in a way that really, _really_ ought to be disgust or fear but, unfortunately, is not)

“Elias,” he manages, and Elias pulls back long enough to contemplate him before reaching out, knotting a hand in Jon’s hair, and pulling his head back to expose Jon’s throat and focus his biting there when he leans back in again. Steals speech away from Jon again with it, has him squirming and gasping and making altogether too much noise as he keeps it up until Jon’s neck feels almost raw, oversensitive to the slightest breeze.

He looks almost entirely unaffected when he pulls back, and Jon - flushed and panting and without any composure he might have started this with - finds himself almost offended on some level until Elias rearranges them to have Jon straddling his lap and Jon realizes that, overall composure aside, Elias is _not_ quite so unaffected as he seems. At least, not if the hard length of Elias’ cock pressed against him is any indication, anyway.

“Is this what you want, Jon?” Elias asks now, punctuating the question with a slow roll of his hips.

The correct answer, the right answer, the _sensible_ answer is no, Jon knows that much.

“Yes,” he says instead, “ _Please_.”

“Quite,” Elias says, seemingly almost to himself, and reaches out to remove Jon’s borrowed t-shirt.

Even knowing that Elias _knows_ what’s under there, knows about his scars and probably already knew exactly what they look like, it’s still Jon’s initial instinct to try to cover himself. To stop Elias from seeing more of the countless scars - or not countless, because he knows there are 73 exactly across his torso and so Elias probably knows the same - from Prentiss’ worms than were already visible with his arms uncovered.

(it’s almost funny, to think that less than a year ago he’d thought the stark scars from a surgery when he was younger were an unsightly thing; now they’re barely noticeable in comparison to the scars from the attack)

Elias catches his arms, though, keeps him uncovered, and Jon lets out a shuddering breath but does nothing to prevent it as Elias leans in and presses a scattering of kisses across his chest and shoulders, not focusing on the scars but not avoiding them either. When Jon finally feels as though he won’t bolt away as soon as he’s released, Elias lets go of his arms and sits back a little, turning that appraising look on him again.

“Better?”

Jon nods, not sure he’s capable of much more than that right now, and lets Elias guide him forward to rest his head on Elias’ shoulder, one hand sliding down Jon’s torso a moment later and making him shiver. It keeps going, sliding under fabric until Elias is touching him directly, working his fingers in movements that are exactly what Jon likes best, exactly the places and the ways that feel most pleasant for him.

 _Has he thought about this before?_ Jon thinks to himself.

He’s not particularly surprised that a moment later, as though the question had been audible, Elias answers, “Of course.”

Elias keeps up the movement of his hand until Jon is gasping and dizzy with it, making desperate little noises and trying to squirm closer even though he’s already pressed flush against him, and then removes his hand and nudges Jon up onto his knees, ignoring the protesting noise he earns for his troubles. Looking entirely too smug about it all, he reaches up instead and presses his fingers to Jon’s lips, letting out a pleased-sounding hum when Jon opens his mouth almost instinctively to suck on them. Tasting himself on someone else’s skin isn’t a particular preference of his, but Elias’ obvious approval is enough to more than make up for that, and Jon keeps it up for as long as seems to be required of him.

Once he’s apparently satisfied with Jon’s work on his fingers, Elias rearranges them again, divesting Jon of his glasses and the rest of his clothes in the process until they end up with Jon on his hands and knees on the bed and Elias kneeling behind him, still fully-dressed and entirely too unruffled. Jon’s attempt to glance behind him only causes Elias to push his head down into the pillows gently but firmly, which Jon responds to by letting his chest drop down onto the covers as well and trying not to think too much about the image he must be presenting.

(the sound of a zipper being unfastened behind him makes that last part harder, admittedly)

“I’m going to fuck your thighs,” Elias tells him a moment later, the tone - light, airy, as though he’s telling Jon he’s going to fetch tea - in stark contrast to the words. Jon shudders at the declaration, and again - even more this time - when it’s followed by Elias’ fingers sliding between his thighs, slick with cold lube that definitely couldn’t have come from anywhere but a pocket of Elias’ suit.

“Did you—”

“One never knows when it might be useful,” Elias interrupts, tone not inviting any response. He continues what he’s doing after that, and when he finally pulls back Jon is shivering in anticipation, breath coming in shaking gasps into the pillow.

“ _Please_ ,” he gets out, too far-gone to be embarrassed by how desperate he sounds. Elias only makes a quiet noise above him that might have been a laugh, and then grips Jon’s thigh with one hand, pushing them both together as he’s shifting to slide his cock into the slickness between them. He makes another quiet noise then, barely audible in comparison to the louder, desperate one that Jon makes without thinking because there is _no_ reason this ought to feel as good as it does.

As good as it feels, though, he quickly decides it’s also a carefully-planned form of torture. Elias’ cock is sliding between his thighs and it’s both the best thing he’s felt in a long time and, at the same time, entirely not _enough_ ; too slow and not touching him where he needs it most and so he’s left loud and half-undone and desperately trying to push back into the movement even as Elias holds his hips in place with a firm grasp. It feels like hours pass with only that slow, dragging torture before Elias finally speeds up abruptly, finally reaches down and touches him and starts moving like he’s fucking Jon in earnest, all sharp jerks of his hips as his hand moves between Jon’s legs.

It’s not long, then, Jon shuddering and gasping and half held-up by the hand that’s still clutching one hip, and when Elias snaps his hips forward one final time and comes across Jon’s stomach and chest, it’s only a few moments before Jon is following with a desperate noise loud enough that he finds himself half-worrying that the neighbors will have heard.

(if Georgie ends up getting a noise complaint caused by him being screwed by his boss in the spare room, he _might_ end up expiring on the spot, which would rather make Leitner saving Jon from the Not-Them and getting murdered for his troubles an entirely useless endeavor)

He’s out of it enough to laugh almost drunkenly into the pillows at that particular thought, and he can practically feel the raised eyebrow behind him as Elias stops in place, presumably watching Jon again for long moments before he keeps on pulling away and reaches out to roll Jon onto his back.

“Something funny, Jon?”

“Not at all,” Jon says, which isn’t entirely a lie. “Completely inappropriate thing to laugh at,” he adds, which isn’t one at all.

By now he can see the raised eyebrow, and he can practically see something ticking in Elias’ mind alongside it until, suddenly, Elias barks out a laugh of his own.

“ _Quite_ ,” Elias says, though he’s clearly making no effort to hide his own amusement at it all.

He promptly produces tissues from another pocket of his suit after that, working to clean them up with quiet efficiency. _How prepared_ ** _were_** _you for this?_ Jon thinks, and isn’t particularly surprised when Elias’ starts humming cheerfully to himself a moment later, feigning an innocence that’s has rather too much of a cat-that-got-the-cream air to be believable.

Once that’s taken care of, and Jon is dressed again, it becomes clear that Elias isn’t going to stay any longer. Has to get back to work, he says, and Jon supposes that’s true even if it sets off the ache in his chest again. Elias lets Jon trail him toward the door, though, briefly pausing to pick up the recorded tapes, and once there he pauses and looks Jon up and down.

“Some of your clothes tomorrow, I should think,” he declares suddenly. “As… _endearing_ as the t-shirt is, it’s hardly your style.”

He’ll have no way to explain that one to Georgie, but between the relief at the idea of wearing his own clothes again and the - much less advisable - relief at the idea of seeing Elias again tomorrow, Jon only manages to nod and thank him as Elias starts out the door.

“Oh, and Jon?” he calls, just as Jon is about to shut the door behind him. “Your friend keeps concealer in the bathroom cabinet, third shelf, on the left. I think you’ll find it’s just the right color for your neck.”


End file.
